Chapter 10: The Blood Rises

I woke up in a world of ache and friction, my hips and spine broadcasting a full report on last night’s activities. The furs beneath me were hot and wet, steeped in the scent of barbarian sweat and sex. My ass felt like it had been used as a battle standard, and the collar Bjorn had locked around my throat didn’t help. It was stiff, wide, and lined with little notches, and it chafed my neck, a constant reminder that no matter how many times I ran or got pinned down, I’d always end up back here, desperate and marked.

Felix was sprawled beside me, one arm thrown over my chest like he owned the place, which he probably did. His golden hair stuck to his cheek in a perfect tangle, his lips parted in the slow, arrogant smile of someone who dreams only of things he’s already stolen. He looked like a fallen angel that had just fucked his way through every circle of hell and was sleeping it off in a pile of sin.

Gray morning light leaked through the cracks in the lodge’s timber walls. Sigrid and Brynhild were already gone, and from outside came the muted roars and shouts of northlanders prepping for breakfast and/or bloodshed. My body tried to panic, but the rest of me just wanted to crawl back inside Felix and die happy.

I spent a long time watching him sleep, letting my mind drift over everything that had happened. Last night’s orgy had left me feeling like a chew toy for a pack of overgrown wolves: every inch of me hurt, and I still shivered when I remembered the way Sigrid and Brynhild had fought over who got to break me first, or how Felix had waltzed in at the end and finished me off like it was a favor.

And yet here I was, hard as a diamond and pressed so close to Felix that I could feel the steady thump of his heart under my palm. I hated how much I wanted him, and my cock ached to be inside him again.

I should have felt humiliated, but all I could think about was Felix’s ass and the way it had felt wrapped around me, taut and greedy and perfect.

I rolled over, groaned as my hips protested, and glared at Felix’s sleeping form. The man was insufferable even unconscious. I wanted to punch him and fuck him at the same time, preferably in that order.

I scooted closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and let my cock drag against his thigh. He didn’t stir. Bastard. I pressed in harder, grinding slow and lazy, rubbing my cockhead against the hot slick cleft of his ass.

Still nothing. He’d always been a heavy sleeper. Or maybe he just liked the drama.

I bit him, right on the point of his shoulder, leaving a mark to match my own. He twitched, mumbled something in that soft, musical voice of his, and finally opened his eyes.

“Already?” he croaked, not even pretending to be surprised. “I thought you’d be dead.”

“Maybe I am,” I said, biting him again, harder. “Maybe this is hell.”

He stretched like a cat, arching his back so his whole body pressed up into me, then glanced down at where my cock was jabbing his ass. “Hell’s getting better every day,” he said.

“You deserve worse,” I muttered, but I was already shifting my hips, lining up and pushing the tip against his hole. I didn’t care if I was still sore from last night, didn’t care if the entire Skullcrusher clan could hear us, didn’t care that I’d spent my whole life avoiding anything that looked like belonging to anyone. I just wanted to own Felix, even if it was for five seconds, even if it meant I’d have to pay for it later.

“Is this—” Felix began, but I shut him up by spitting in my hand and smearing it between his cheeks, then thrusting in with a single, mean stroke.

He let out a sharp, surprised gasp, eyes flying wide. “Someone’s feeling aggressive,” he purred, though his knuckles had gone white gripping the edge of the bedding.

“Shut up,” I growled, and started fucking him.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even nice. I fucked him like I was punishing him, like if I could just pound hard enough I could drive all the humiliation and confusion and leftover need out of myself and into him. Each slap of my hips sent a fresh jolt of pain up my spine, but that just made me thrust harder, made me want it more.

Felix pushed back against me, greedy as ever, his whole body moving with me. He turned his head to look at me, a perfect, devilish smile stretching his lips. “Finally taking charge, are we?” he teased.

I slapped his ass, hard enough to leave a mark. “You want me to stop?”

He made a show of thinking about it, then shook his head. “Not for the world, Sam. Not for all the world.”

I gripped his waist, fingers digging into the bruises left by Sigrid’s hands, and rammed in to the hilt. He moaned, a low, beautiful sound that vibrated through both of us. I was grinning, then panting, then laughing, the sound cracked and wet and raw.

“You look like shit,” Felix said between thrusts. “But you fuck like a god.”

“Shut up,” I said again, but I didn’t mean it.

He reached back and grabbed my hair, pulling my face down to his, kissing me messy and open-mouthed. His tongue tasted of blood and sleep.

I braced both hands on his back, using all the leverage I could muster. I wanted to fuck him so hard he’d never forget it. I was losing my mind, losing control, but for the first time in weeks it actually felt good.

Felix matched me, thrust for thrust, pushing back with impossible strength, milking every inch of me. The lodge around us shook with the force of it, and outside I could hear the shouts and laughter of barbarians warming up for the day’s fights. For all I knew, they could see us through the cracks in the timber. I didn’t care.

I slammed in again, balls slapping against his ass, and finally let go, came so hard my vision went white at the edges, my whole body locking up as I emptied myself inside him. Felix bit down on my arm, drawing blood, and shuddered in his own release, cock twitching against the furs.

I collapsed onto his back, panting, sweat mixing with the come already drying on our skin.

We stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the wheeze of our breath and the distant thunder of Bjorn’s morning calisthenics.

Eventually Felix twisted his head to the side and smirked at me. “Feel better?”

I groaned, rolling off him, and flopped onto my back, every bruise throbbing in time with my heartbeat. But I was happy, in a dumb, animal way. I felt like myself again, even if that self was filthy and broken and completely owned.

Felix snuggled up to my side, his skin hot and damp against mine.

“You know,” he whispered, tracing a finger over the fresh bite on my arm, “you could just ask for what you want. The northlanders aren’t big on subtlety.”

“I’ll remember that,” I said, eyes already closing.

He kissed me, slower now, like he was sorry for everything or maybe nothing at all. “You always say that, Sam.”

I drifted back to sleep, Felix’s arms around me, the taste of blood and sweat and victory lingering on my tongue. For the first time since we’d come to the north, I felt safe. Or as safe as you can feel when you’re property of the most dangerous man in the world.

I’d barely managed to close my eyes when the entire lodge shook with a fresh round of bellowing. At first, I thought it was another weird northland sex game, or maybe Felix had finally decided to kill me in my sleep. But when I opened my eyes, it was neither: it was war. Or, more specifically, the sound of war getting ready for breakfast.

Felix groaned and pulled the furs over his head. “Can’t they ever just use their inside voices?”

“Not unless their inside voice is a catapult,” I muttered, but I was already rolling out of bed, tripping over Felix’s legs and my own overworked dick.

We made a half-assed attempt at getting dressed. Bjorn’s rules, according to Felix, required me to stay bare-chested so everyone could “admire the prize.” Which meant that even if I put on my pants, there was still enough skin showing to make me a walking target for every horny, hungry, or just plain mean northlander in the camp.

I cinched the drawstring on my trousers, wiped off the worst of last night’s mess with a scrap of fur, and followed Felix outside.

The air was colder than the inside of a tomb, and the sky had the sickly pale hue of a hangover. The courtyard, usually empty at this hour, was packed: every Skullcrusher in the stronghold crowded around the central fire, which crackled and spat as if trying to outdo the volume of its audience.

At the center, Sigrid and Bjorn were going at it, and not in the fun way. Bjorn towered over his daughter, muscles rippling beneath a shirt that looked like it had been chewed by wolves and then spit out in disgust. His beard was wild, bristling with fresh icicles and what might have been bits of last night’s dinner. His eyes were bright and hard and very, very blue.

Sigrid was barely shorter, but she didn’t bother with shirts. Just a leather wrap across her chest, arms bare and covered in bruises that either came from fighting or from sex, and I honestly couldn’t say which was more likely in this family. Her jaw was set, her fists clenched at her sides, and her entire body was quivering with an energy that made my skin crawl.

Bjorn roared, “You think you’re ready for the next raid? You can’t even keep your head when the gnomes come for our stores!”

Sigrid’s lip curled, eyes glittering with something I recognized as the early stages of berserker rage. “The gnomes got away because you were too busy playing with your new pet!” She jabbed a finger straight at me, and the entire crowd followed her gesture. “Maybe if you spent less time breeding with the southlander, and more time training your warriors, we’d have food for winter.”

I felt about a hundred pairs of eyes land on my bare chest, my collar, and the deep purple hickey spreading across my clavicle. I tried to disappear, but Felix just grinned and draped an arm across my shoulders like he was showing off a new puppy.

Bjorn’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You speak out of turn, little bear. You want to challenge my authority? Try it.”

A ripple went through the crowd. Sigrid was a legend for her age, but Bjorn was… well, Bjorn. You didn’t get a name like Skullcrusher by winning at cards.

Sigrid stepped forward, teeth bared. “I’m not afraid of you, old man. Maybe it’s time the clan had a chief who doesn’t fuck the livestock.”

A barbarian to my right nearly spat out his beer, but most of them were genuinely curious to see what would happen.

Bjorn let the insult hang for a second, then laughed, deep and thunderous. “You want a trial by arms, daughter? You want to prove yourself?”

Sigrid’s hands went to her belt, and I saw the hilts of her twin axes flash in the morning light. “If you have the balls.”

Felix squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “This is going to be good.”

The crowd closed in, warriors climbing onto barrels and crates for a better view.

Bjorn grabbed his war axe from the ground, hefting it like it weighed nothing. The blade was chipped, stained with what I hoped was just rust, and easily the size of my entire torso.

Sigrid drew her axes, spinning them in tight, nervous circles. For a second, they just stared at each other.

Before either could move, the world erupted in chaos.

It started with a scream from the outer wall, followed by a shrill, piercing horn, one I recognized instantly from the last gnome attack.

Felix’s eyes lit up. “Round two,” he said. “This should be fun.”

Bjorn’s head snapped up. “Hold your ground!” he barked, voice slicing through the noise like a sword. Sigrid, not to be outdone, bellowed her own command: “Shields to the front! You, with the pet, cover the southern gate!”

I realized too late that she meant me. Felix shoved me forward, and we were swept up in the tide of warriors as the stronghold exploded into motion.

The last thing I saw before we hit the gate was Sigrid, hair flying, eyes wild, axes raised. She was grinning: not a polite grin, but the kind of grin that made me glad we were on the same side, at least for now.

The gates shuddered with the impact of a hundred tiny fists, and I heard the unmistakable, high-pitched war cry of Grimble and his gnome horde.

Felix glanced at me and winked. “You ready?”

I was not ready.

But at least I was alive, which was more than I could say for the first gnome who managed to squeeze through the gate.

The next few minutes were a blur of violence, stupidity, and creative overkill.

The first wave of gnomes hit the gate like a flood of angry, pissed-off children. They were decked out in mismatched armor, wielding tiny spears and axes, and most of them wore the red pointy hats that had become the unofficial symbol of “Gnomes Who Don’t Give a Shit.” The smallest ones rode into battle on giant, slavering badgers, which snapped and clawed at anything in their path, including the other gnomes.

I barely had time to duck before a full-sized cabbage whizzed past my head, thrown from a gnome-operated catapult that looked suspiciously like a tavern table with a bent spoon for a trigger. The cabbage exploded against a barbarian’s helmet, sending leaves everywhere and making the man so angry he started swinging his axe at anything that moved. Felix cackled, nearly doubled over in laughter, and then grabbed my hand, dragging me behind the cover of a barrel.

“Look at that!” he yelled, pointing to where a pair of gnomes were rolling a spiked barrel toward the legs of two northlanders. “I told you they learned from last time.”

“They’re trying to kill us with agriculture,” I said, just as the barrel hit a rock and split open, showering the barbarians in sour ale and rusty nails.

Felix nudged me, still grinning. “Effective, though.”

The entire courtyard was chaos: Skullcrushers roaring, gnomes screaming, badgers rampaging, and every so often a northlander would slip on a vegetable and fall face-first into the mud. Sigrid was at the front line, already covered in blood, spinning her axes with the precision of a professional butcher. Bjorn fought with his axe in one hand and hurled gnomes across the yard with the other, like they were firewood.

For a second, I just stood and watched, dumbfounded. The gnome attacks had always been a joke in the southlands, stories for children, never real. Here, it was deadly serious, but still hilarious.

Felix leaned in, voice low and urgent. “This is our chance.”

“Our chance for what?”

He rolled his eyes. “The rings. The gnomes want them, remember? If we get to them first, we can either ransom them or just get the hell out of here.”

I remembered, but only barely. My brain was still stuck on the image of a gnome riding a badger directly into Sigrid’s axe, the poor bastard splitting into two even smaller gnomes on impact.

I nodded. “Right. The storage tent.”

We crept along the edge of the battle, ducking low behind barrels and abandoned shields. The gnomes had set up a second line of defense, this one built entirely of sharpened stakes, tanglefoot traps, and what looked like a set of wind-up teeth mounted on a spring. Felix went first, disarming each trap with a flick of his wrist, and I followed, still in awe of how good he was at breaking into things, or out of them.

Every few steps, I risked a glance back at the fight. Bjorn was a force of nature, swinging his war axe in arcs that sent gnomes flying. Sigrid looked like a goddess, her body glistening with sweat and blood, and she screamed with a joy that was almost infectious. It was hard not to root for her, even as she caved in a gnome’s skull with her bare fist.

But the gnomes weren’t backing down. Every time one of them got squished, two more appeared from under the tables or behind the barrels. And their leader, Grimble Shortstack in his pointy red hat, was at the back of the line, directing traffic and occasionally hurling insults in a squeaky, rage-filled voice.

“Return what you stole!” he shrieked, voice echoing across the yard. “Or face the wrath of the Ankle-High Autocrat!”

I shivered. Grimble looked ridiculous, but the sight of him now, standing atop a makeshift podium of dead badgers and wielding a staff that was definitely just a table leg, was enough to make me want to run.

Felix saw me hesitate, and squeezed my arm. “Sam. Stay with me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

We reached the storage tent without incident, mostly because all the warriors were too busy fending off the gnome horde to notice two half-naked rogues slipping through the chaos. The tent was massive: double-walled, with enough space inside to hold a week’s worth of loot and a small army of guards.

Or, as it turned out, a very large pile of mead barrels and two very bored guards, who were currently betting on which gnome would survive the next minute.

Felix put a finger to his lips, then ducked around the side of the tent, looking for another way in. I lingered by the flap, peering in through a slit. The guards were distracted, shouting and laughing at the battle outside, so I eased open the flap and slipped inside.

It was dark, cold, and smelled like old leather and rotten grain. I tiptoed past the barrels, scanning for any sign of the rings. There were boxes, chests, and a huge iron safe at the far end, its door slightly ajar.

I was halfway there when one of the guards yelled, “Oi! Who’s that?”

I froze, heart pounding. I didn’t have a weapon, didn’t have a plan, and my only hope was that Felix would come up with something before they did.

The guard, a huge, bald man with a beard like a haystack, lunged at me, swinging a club the size of my leg. I ducked, rolled, and crashed straight into the iron safe.

The other guard, younger and a lot faster, tackled me from behind, pinning me to the ground. “Got you, thief,” he hissed, wrenching my arms behind my back.

“Wait!” I sputtered. “I’m not here for the mead, I swear—”

He slammed my face into the dirt. “Shut up. Bjorn said to break your fingers if we caught you sneaking again.”

My mind went blank, there was no way out, and I was dead.

Out of nowhere, Felix dropped from the ceiling, literally, landing on the young guard’s back and driving a dagger into his thigh. The guard screamed and let go, and I scrambled up, grabbing the first thing I could find: a rusty crowbar.

The older guard rushed us, but Felix tripped him, sending him headfirst into a barrel of sour mash. I whacked him with the crowbar for good measure, then spun to check the safe.

Inside, there was a velvet pouch, tied tight with a silver cord. I grabbed it, hands shaking, and opened it just enough to see the three rings inside, glinting in the faint light.

Felix was already at the exit, beckoning me. “Come on, before they wake up.”

We slipped out the back, crouched low, and ran for the perimeter fence. I had the pouch in my fist and my fist down the front of my trousers, because a bare-chested southlander running across a battle with a velvet bag in his hand is asking to be stopped. The silver cord bit into my knuckles. My hand down there was not helping.

The fighting had moved up toward the main gate. Gnome bodies littered the yard, and the ones still standing were backing out in a tight little knot with their shields up, while Grimble screamed at them from his pile of dead badgers. The Skullcrushers were winning. Bjorn stood in the middle of the yard with his axe across his shoulders, blowing like a bull and grinning through somebody else’s blood.

The back fence had a gap where a gnome battering log had gone through the stakes. Past it there was nothing but snow, black trees, and the road south. Felix turned sideways and slid through, then turned around on the far side and held out his hand to me.

“Right,” I said, but I looked back one last time.

Sigrid was still fighting, and she was the only one. The gnome in front of her had dropped his spear and run for the gate, so there was nobody left to fight, and she kept swinging anyway. Her axes went through the air where he’d been standing, and through a barrel, and the next swing came down a hand’s width from a big Skullcrusher who had walked up to slap her on the back. He fell on his ass getting out of the way. She started shouting at him, and halfway through the shout the words stopped being words. Her mouth kept going and only noise came out. Bjorn dropped his axe, came up behind her and pinned her arms with both of his. She slammed her head back into his face, and he held on anyway, bleeding into her hair and talking into her ear. Even from the fence I could see her hands shaking on the axe handles.

The pouch down my trousers suddenly weighed about as much as Bjorn. I knew exactly what was in it. I’d had my face pressed to the crack of a door and my cock throbbing while Helga bounced Grimble on a pile of furs, and I’d heard him yelp it at her: three rings, made for Sigrid, to stop her doing what she was doing right now. Every step I took toward that gap carried them further from the one person they were made for, and she was over there trying to cut her own clan in half without knowing why. I’m a thief. Taking things from people who need them is most of the job, and I’d never lost sleep over it, because I’d never had to stand around and watch what happened after. I didn’t like watching it. I liked even less that I already knew I was going to do something stupid about it.

“Sam.” Felix wiggled his fingers through the gap. “Trees. Road. Paid. Come on.”

I didn’t move.

“Sam, those guards are going to wake up.”

“I know.”

He looked at me, then over my shoulder at Sigrid, then at where my hand was. He worked it out faster than I had, which I will never forgive him for. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not. She and her girlfriend spent last night fighting over who got to break you, and you want to go back in for her? You’ve lost your mind.”

“Probably,” I said, and walked back toward the tents.

The sensible thing for Felix would have been to leave me there. I heard him swear, long and creative and mostly about my mother, and then the stakes creaked as he came back through the gap.

“I’m not helping,” he said, catching up. “I want that understood. If you’re going to get yourself killed, I just don’t want to miss it.”

We came back around the side of the lodge we’d woken up in and stepped into the crowd from behind, two more sweaty, half-naked men in a yard full of them, and nobody looked twice. The Skullcrushers were cheering the gnomes all the way out the gate. Across the yard, Sigrid had gone limp in her father’s arms, and he was taking the axes out of her hands one at a time. Her fingers kept moving after they were empty.

I stood there with my hand down my trousers and the rings against my thigh, cheering with everybody else, a thief who had found an open fence with the whole road south on the other side of it and walked back into a barbarian fortress on purpose. Ashara would have taken the crop to me for that.